


when the dreaming's done

by zappactionsdower



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bad Communication, Bad Dreams, Bad coping mechanisms, Bad tea, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-30 09:37:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21426097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zappactionsdower/pseuds/zappactionsdower
Summary: Felix i very good at not dealing with things.  Especially when he's asleep.  Dimitri though, well, he's confusing.  The whole thing is confusing.(I have no excuse for this besides I was bored and felt like a reconnecting post-Gronder Field thing.)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 8
Kudos: 57





	1. what's the long face

**Author's Note:**

> There's blood. And... feelings. But not really.

The forest was silent. Above him, blackened trees obscured a grey sky. Below him, white, white as far as the eye could see. The snow was untouched, save for a few tracks of wild animals that were quickly covered up by the flakes falling silently down.

Felix saw red droplets to his left; the only spot of color on such a bleak landscape. That was right; he was hunting. Just as his brother and father had taught him.

_Be silent_, his brother whispered, _but unafraid. Whatever it is, you are the one with the blade_.

The red was more pronounced, a steady _drip drip_ that led deeper into the forest. There were prints too now, some dangerous beast and something being dragged with great effort.

He stopped, raising his bow at a sound.

Behind a string of trees, he saw it.

A boar, as big as a man, dark and hideous and blood-soaked. His huge, crimson tusks were goring something half-in the snow.

A body.

More than a body.

Dimitri was on the ground, covered in red and black, blue eyes glassy and unseeing. His hand, or what was left of it, was trying to reach out for something unseen. The boar devoured him, piece by piece, and Felix's heart hammered. He leapt forward, bow raised, screaming

_Give him back to me give him back stop stop stop **don't!!**_

The beast looked up, and its blood-red eyes were too-familiar blue...

Felix's eyes jerked open as he sucked in air.

The image of cloudy skies slowly settled back into a plain ceiling. A familiar ceiling.

Annoyed, the swordsman slid his arm over his eyes and just _breathed_. His heart still hammered, the image of Dimitri being devoured bit by painful bit refusing to dissipate into nothing.

He was alive.

_They_ were alive.

They were alive, and at Garreg Mach, preparing to take back the capital from a _fucking snake_. Like fools, but what choice did they have?

The stench of blood still burned in his nostrils.

Frustrated, Felix tore the blankets off his body and stood up. He needed air. And something to hit, even if it was a straw dummy.

It was surprisingly cold for that time of year. Or perhaps it was because Felix hadn't thought to take his coat in his fury. He had enough bad dreams as it was. He'd mourned, and mourned, and mourned, and there was no point in it anymore, Dimitri was _gone_, taken over by that _thing_...

He stopped as he saw movement in the dining hall.

On instinct Felix reached for the knife he carried on his hip. It wasn't like there weren't people milling about all night but...

The hulking figure leaning over the stove made his stomach twist.

“Why are you here?”

The boar went stiff, head swiveling to stare at Felix with his good eye. Felix caught the glint of steel in a bare hand; a kitchen knife hat he hadn't even seen. A second felt like a lifetime, a voice in his head repeating _it's not him it's not him it's not..._

“Ah...” Dimitri dropped the knife, causing it to clatter against the counter. “Hello Felix.”

Felix tucked his knife back into its pocket. It was fine. This was...

“You're supposed to be sleeping.” The darkness covered Dimitri's face in shadows, and Felix couldn't help the slight chill as his traitorous brain recalled flesh torn and bones shattered. He was too old for bad dreams.

“I am attempting to sleep. It... isn't working, so I am making tea instead. Would you like some?” The beast had the audacity to sound shy and a little embarrassed. “It's chamomile.”

“You're terrible at making tea.” Still the boar needed to be attended to. Before it destroyed anything, before it took more and more of...

Felix huffed as he settled into a chair and kicked his legs up on the table. None of this. No more.

Dimitri hummed, casually setting the teapot on a thick stone circle.

The silence was strange, but not entirely unwelcome. It had been so long since silence had meant _peace_, and Goddess knew it wasn’t going to last. In front of him, Dimitri gathered two chipped mugs and set them on the table.

“I didn’t think we should use the fine china. Unless you’d like to?” Dimitri hesitated, and Felix huffed.

“It doesn’t matter.” Dimitri’s hands weren’t red. Were whole, and not being chewed to the bone. Still, in the darkness he could make out old scarring running along the thumb and index finger of his left hand. Had it always been there? Was that why the Boar had always worn those gloves?

Why hadn’t he noticed?

Dimitri poured the tea and set the kettle back on a stone circle. Felix wrapped his fingers around the mug and soaked in the warmth. In the back of his mind, he remembered cold nights, huddled together in a corner, clutching at hot cocoa that Sylvain had coaxed out of one of the maids. 

“Thank you, by the way.” Dimitri’s voice dragged him back to the harsh present. “For the talk two days ago.”  
  
Goddess. He was really doing this now? Felix’s stomach twisted, unpleasant thoughts getting louder. He scowled, lifting the mug to his lips to distract him.  
  
And choked.  
  
Dimitri was there in a heartbeat, long hands awkwardly patting his back. The swordsman wheezed, not resisting at all as Dimitri coaxed a cough from him, then two. Goddess damn him!  
  
“What…” Felix hissed, glowering upwards at Dimitri’s worried expression. “_was_ that? Do you call that tea?! Are you trying to poison us?!”  
  
“Ah… no?” Dimitri awkwardly took the mug from Felix’s shaking hands. He frowned, and Felix bristled as he realized the stupid brute was still rubbing little circles against his spine. “It didn’t taste strange so…”  
  
“You _burned_ it. What kind of idiot _burns tea_?” Felix rose from his seat, brushing past Dimitri as he stormed to the corner near the meat cooler. Jugs of water were always kept in reserve, and the swordsman was certain he could drink a whole one just to chase the awful taste away. “Goddess, I really can’t trust you to do anything by yourself, can I?”  
  
He was expecting _that_ look. The empty, dulled stare. Or the hostile darkness. Instead, Dimitri just looked sheepish. And almost.. happy?  
  
Goddess, this was too damn confusing.  
  
“Thank you Felix. For caring.” Dimitri said, and Felix choked again. Really. _Really_. “For so long... I couldn't figure out why you _hated_ me so. But you didn't, did you?” That smile was back. The weird, too there little one. The one that made Felix itch all over.  
  
“We aren't talking about me. We're talking about you burning _tea_,” Felix took a quick swig of water, just to do something, _anything_. “Didn't you notice?” The boar didn't _eat_ right. He'd seen it, for years, but even tea.. “You didn't, did you?”  
  
“I... can't say I did.” Dimitri looked downwards, “This is... difficult.” Felix opened his mouth, but the boar continued, “But I owe you. I owe all of you.”  
  
“If you say you owe me I _will_ gut you, beast,” the swordsman warned, clutching tighter to his jug of water.  
  
“I will... make you an agreement then?” The blonde's eye flicked up, watching Felix in the dim light. “I will be completely honest with you, for better or worse. But you must be honest with me as well. When you are in pain, you cannot mask it, nor can I to you. Do we agree?”  
  
As though he'd ever lied to the stupid boar. “Fine.”  
  
“I cannot taste. Aside from when Flayn cooks, sometimes. But it is an echo of what I remember the experience being.” Dimitri's voice faded, apologetic and unsure. “My doctors after Duscur.. they seemed to have no explanation for it. It bothered the maids to no end, that I barely wished to eat as it was. Things that I'd enjoyed before.... I _couldn't_, Felix.” Dimitri anxiously twisted his fingers together. “I am sorry. It's difficult to speak but I believe it important.”  
  
The room was too hot. Or maybe it was his own blood. Goddess damn him. Damn everything. He reached up, twisting his hands in his bangs as he breathed. “That's....” Unfair. Why was it all so _unfair? “_Dimitri...”  
  
“I will clean up, if you wish to leave.”  
  
“I'll help clean up.” Felix shoved the twisting of his stomach down. The whole time. He should have _seen_ it. “You break porcelain.”  
  
He didn't sleep. At all. He just stared at the wall separating their rooms and thought about hot cocoa turning to ash on his tongue.

* * *

In some respects, Felix knew he was dreaming. Had been dreaming. Of younger days, and sparring lessons, and sometimes his father or brother laughing and alive, _whole_.  
  
Dimiri was there, their hands curled together as they ran through the castle hallways. Sylvain was to his left, his longer legs giving him the advantage that he loved to rub in their stupid faces. Ingrid was the responsible one, shouting at them for being _stupid_ because sooner or later they were going to run in to something and break something and then they'd all be in trouble.  
  
Felix swerved, swinging Dimitri outwards. He saw it before it happened, the collision as Dimitri slammed bodily into an old dresser. Felix yelped, skidding to a halt as he and Syvain both turned around to hastily check on their friend.  
  
Dimitri rubbed weakly at the side of his face. He blinked up at them, struggling to hide tears because Dimitri couldn't –_ wouldn't_ – cry. Crown princes never cried. “Is it bad?”  
  
Felix ran his small fingers over the clear welt. No, not a welt.  
  
Cracks.  
  
Like fine porcelain, crumbling in on itself. Dimitri blinked again as his face began to shatter, and Felix couldn't catch the pieces. He jumped back, horrified as the prince's face broke into tiny motes of dust, revealing nothing.  
  
Nothing at all.

* * *

The plan to retake Fhridiad came together in bits and pieces. Additional soldiers here. Letting the Alliance deal with the Empire there. Reaching out to tried and tested allies to have a clear path without fear of being blocked in. The knowledge that if such a thing were to happen, Dimitri alone could clear an escape route if he so desired.  
  
The whole thing made Felix unusually anxious. He spent the tactical meetings watching Dimitri, Gilbert, and the professor murmur between themselves and he waited for.... something. As though wyverns were going to fall from the sky whenever he took his eyes away for even a second.  
  
Annette said he was paranoid. At least _someone_ was.

It was almost a relief, when the professor requested they take on a gathering of bandits near the Alliance border. Felix jumped at the request, eager to have something simple and straightforward.  
  
The bandits didn't know they were coming. It was easy, _too_ easy, to tear through them.  
  
Except the Professor didn't know the Imperial troops were coming either.  
  
Bandits were easy. If they were outnumbered and intimidated, they’d flee. Those that stayed tended to deserve whatever disgraced end they’d been searching for. But soldiers…  
  
Soldiers made Felix’s skin itch all over. Too many scared stares, the ones that didn’t want to fight but had no choice in the matter. And those with _that_ determined look, the ones that truly believed in the cause and would drag you down to the earth would them. They were the worst, the ones that wouldn’t surrender, even when your blade was an inch from their throat.  
  
Felix cut through soldier after soldier, trying to find his way back to the road. They hadn’t deployed banners, why would they against simple bandits?  
  
He caught a spot of bright white kneeling on the ground to his right. And a soldier in red armor approaching her from behind. Felix snarled, slamming his fist into the nearest soldier’s face. No. Not Lysithea. Why was Lysithea there? Unprotected by her battalion?!  
  
Felix ran, slicing through whatever mongrel tried to slow him down but there were so _many_. Someone howled as he dug a knife into their throat, and another took a pommel to the neck. He had to get to Lysithea. Or else… or else…  
  
He shouted as loud as he could, praying to the Goddess that she could hear, that she _knew_… if that bastard had hurt her, if she was _dead_…  
  
Out of nowhere, a javelin slammed into the approaching soldier’s back. The figure lurched forward, armor cracking open with the sheer force of the blow. Felix turned, stumbling as he saw Dimitri’s cold black armor. Their eyes met briefly, both of them heading towards the injured mage as though the eternal flames were licking at their feet.  
  
Felix didn’t feel the horse come up from behind him until he felt hands bodily dragging him upwards. He snarled, fighting furiously against the unseen force.  
  
“Hey! Felix! Cut it out!” Sylvain cursed quietly as he avoided a fist flailing at his chin. “Felix!”  
  
Felix breathed.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sylvain soothed, gently near Felix’s ear. “It’s okay. Dimitri’s got her. We’re fine now. It’s _okay_.” Felix grimaced as the redhead’s fingers brushed against his arm and it took him a long moment to realize he was bleeding.  
  
The adrenaline started to wear off, and he looked around, surveying the battlefield. Too many bodies on the ground. None of them people he recognized. Dimitri was far away, huddled between a shaking Lysithea and Mercedes, who had a gentle white glow emanating from her fingers.  
  
“Pretty big freakout for you,” Sylvain said airily as he directed his horse back to the gathering remains of their group. “Are you okay now?”  
  
“I can still punch you.” Felix warned, awkwardly settling in to his spot in front of the taller man. He hated being on horseback. It was just… weird. “I’m fine. It’s that boar who just split someone in half.”  
  
“You both did a number out there. Let’s… not talk any more about that, huh?” Sylvain answered, and his voice shook just slightly. “We’re all alive. Let’s leave it at that.”  
  
“Fine.” Felix bowed his head and closed his eyes. “This is disgusting to look at anyway.”

* * *

It was raining. Hard enough to be irritating, but not enough to stall their onward march. The sword in his hand felt heavy, already stained with red.

The roars of battle around him were already dimmed to low murmurs. Irrelevant to his goal. His target was there, on the defense as more and more of the soldiers surrounding them were executed.

Two blue eyes – whole, unbroken - stared, with recognition and then despair.

“Why?” The boar asked, raising his lance. “Why, Felix?”

Felix didn’t bother to explain as he swept his blade forward, meeting Dimitri’s weapon. All that mattered was cutting that last chain to his past down, proving that he _could_. Never again. Never again would he swear fealty to that _thing_. He was free. _Free_.

Perhaps it was the rain, or something else in the boar’s head, but his fighting was wrong. His lance was sloppy, easy to dodge. Felix scowled, because this was supposed to be a _victory_, and yet that thing would deny him even that?! Felix elbowed the boar’s shoulder away and shoved his sword upwards, through the solid black armor, past skin and bone and directly in the boar’s heart.

Dimitri’s blue eyes widened as he stilled, lance clattering to the wet ground below them.

Felix let him drop, falling forward as Dimitri collided with the muddy earth. His dulled eyes stared at Felix, blood sliding from inside his mouth.

Felix leaned down, close, close, hands shaking… He pressed their foreheads together, felt the air leave Dimitri’s lungs for the very last time…

Felix tangled in the sheets, barely finding the wastebasket in time as he threw up.

His heart pounded, his hands shivered, lungs barely able to gulp in air. The feeling of blood and rain and viscera too damn close. If he looked down, he’d see mud, he’d feel the give of flesh and blue eyes turning into empty glass.

The swordsman shook, fumbling weakly to his feet. He was fine. He was _fine_. He was _fucking fine_.

He just needed some _fucking air_.

Dimitri was in the partially restored library, huddled beneath a blanket with a book awkwardly balanced on his knees. If Felix wasn’t still fighting back a surge of nausea, he would have gone over to punch the man.

The blonde looked up, startled, and Felix’s insides cramped up.

“Felix? What’s wrong?”

“Take that damn shirt off.” Felix demanded, hoping his voice didn’t waver. It was fine. Everything was _fine_.

Dimitri obediently fumbled with the complicated buttons, thankfully not asking a single question. Felix couldn’t stand it if he did because the whole thing was _stupid_ and completely irrational. The swordsman knelt down, squinting as Dimitri revealed a pale white shirt beneath. Not good enough still. He just… he had to see.  
  
“Do you need some water? You’re very pale…”  
  
“Shut up,” To the pit with propriety. He undid the top few buttons, laying Dimitri bare, and finally, finally found he could breathe again.  
  
Scars littered the pale skin. Deep welts ran along his right side including burn marks running all along his shoulder. A star-shaped scar on his left, and another running above his hipbone. Felix’s fingers brushed against the center of the prince’s chest, searching for any sign of sword marks.  
  
“Felix?” Dimitri’s left hand curled around his wrist “Do you need to see Manuela?”  
  
“Be silent Dimitri.” He pressed his palm against the skin and felt the steady pulse beneath. Alive. They were alive. He hadn’t… it was just a dream.  
  
But it wasn’t, was it?  
  
The word dimmed to the steady, firm sound of their breaths. Felix felt tiredness overwhelm him, and didn’t resist as Dimitri slowly pulled him forward. Felix folded his knees in, carefully tucking his head against Dimitri’s neck where the pulse was strongest  
  
“What do you think you’re doing?” Felix grumbled. “We’re not children, boar.” The hand rubbing little circles on his spine wasn’t _entirely_ unwelcome though.   
  
“What is upsetting you so?” Goddess, this was stupid. This was all stupid. Felix _loathed_ it.  
  
“Why are you in here anyway? You have a bedroom, you know.” Libraries were for mice, not future kings.  
  
“I fell asleep reading an old novel. Dedue left me a blanket and allowed me rest, I suppose.” Dimitri hesitated, and Felix scoffed at the sudden loss of warmth on his back. “Did we not have an agreement to be honest to one another?”  
  
Goddess, he didn’t know what to do with this… Dimitri. Boar. Whoever he was. It made his head ache. “I had a bad dream.”  
  
“Of me?”  
  
“I have a lot of bad dreams about you.”  
  
“I apologize.”  
  
“Don’t,” Felix tucked his head in further, not wanting to see anything. “I told you I don't want apologies.”  
  
“Still.” The hand on his back started moving again. “If I am antagonizing you in any way, I want to know. For my sake, just as much as yours.”  
  
“I thought about killing you, sometimes. If I could.” Dimitri's pulse quickened, “If I would have to. That thing... that you'd become...” It suddenly felt very cold and empty in the library, and Felix curled his fingers about the warmth of Dimitri's chest. A very human chest, as scarred as it was. “But you were always you. I just...” It was right there. _Right there_, but Felix wasn't sure he wanted to touch that particular truth just yet. That he'd spent years believing his friend was a beast instead of broken, loathing someone because it was easier even when Dimitri had been falling deeper and deeper into something black and ugly. Alone.  
  
“I thought about killing me as well.” Dimitri moved his head, resting his jaw against Felix's hair. Goddess, this was absurd. They weren't _five _any more, crawling into each other's beds whenever the maids had finished tucking the in. “But we're alive now.”  
  
“If we don't die on some fool battlefield like a bunch of mongrels.” It could have been so easy, for that damn soldier to hurt Lysithea and Felix could have done nothing. Nothing at all.  
  
Dimitri hummed, soft and low. Felix felt his eyelids grow heavy, and yet somehow, he felt... clean.  
  
“Is that the Onion Song?”  
  
“Annette taught it to me. It... helps.” Dimitri didn't explain further, thank the Goddess. Felix wasn't ready to cross that river yet. “Do you want me to carry you back to your room?”  
  
“M'fine.” Felix slurred, struggling to stay focused. His breathing evened out, lulled by thoughts of vegetables and a steady, solid pulse.  
  
  
Mercedes found them asleep the next morning. It was, luckily, not all that scandalous.  
  


* * *

  
  
“You know, horses don't care if you glower at them, Felix. They're horses.” Sylvain rubbed at the black beast's neck and went back to carefully adjusting the worn saddle. “You ready?”  
  
“I'm not glowering at a horse. You, however...” Felix glanced away, checking his weapons at his side and the quiver awkwardly hung on his back. He was ready. Ready _enough_ at least. The road to Fhirdiad was as clear as it was going to be, and the rain part of the month was finally over. The _snake_ would be expecting them, but those still loyal to the royal line would be able to antagonize her until their arrival.  
  
“Right, right. You know, you can go to the rear guard if you need to. “ Sylvain's lips twisted upwards, “Or you can ask Ingrid about riding on her pegasus...”  
  
“Absolutely _not_, Sylvain!” Ingrid countered beside them. “If Felix wants to be a baby, he can walk!”  
  
Sylvain shrugged. Felix bristled. This was stupid. He could damn well ride with _Ashe_ if he needed to.  
  
Who was going to be one of the scouts, taking the dangerous paths...  
  
“Right, well,” Sylvain mounted the horse and gently tapped the back of his saddle. “Come along Felix.”  
  
He huffed and climbed behind the redhead. “Let's just get this over with.”  
  
  
It wasn't that he hated horses. Or riding. He'd trained with Dimitri, under Glenn's careful eye, ever since the two of them could climb onto a small pony. Sylvain joined later, and Felix was secretly impressed how quickly the redhead adapted to horseback.  
  
But there was something about having his feet off the ground, something about being forced to rely on a trained animal to do exactly what you needed that made it unpleasant. He'd practiced with Ashe on archery just for such times, because at least he could do _something_ without charging like a fool into battle.  
  
“I can hear you thinking, you know.” Sylvain said as he led the horse to the small gathering outside of the monastery. Smaller than Felix felt comfortable with. The boar was there, on top of a white horse and talking to Gilbert.  
  
He hadn't talked to Dimitri since that night. Hadn't had anything to say that wouldn't sound caustic or too personal.  
  
“I have a perfect opportunity to drive a knife into your back,” Felix warned, drawing his attention back to what Sylvain was chattering on about. Nothing important, most likely. Sylvain rarely said anything intelligent.  
  
“You won't though. You like me.” Sylvain nodded to Dimitri, who eyed them both with an unreadable expression. “Are we ready, Your Highness?”  
  
“Yes.” Dimitri started slowly, and Felix was painfully aware of the hesitance in the boar's voice. “It's beyond time to take back the capital.” The prince pivoted, looking at all those gathered, waiting uneasily for orders. “Thank you... all of you. Let's go reclaim our kingdom.” He raised his lance and as one, the army moved.  
  
Sylvain fell in line easily, just a few feet to the left of the prince. Above them, Ingrid and her battalion whirled and danced, hovering just ahead to watch for approaching soldiers. It would be so easy for a sniper to aim upwards, and pegasi were so fragile...  
  
But that was the point of Ashe's group. Move silently and smoothly through the undergrowth, catching any hidden aggressors before they could spring their traps. And Ashe was good at it too. He thought like a thief after all.  
  
His mind still drifted back, to the dreams of Mercedes' unseeing, lifeless eyes, or Ingrid's body falling from the sky like a broken bird, or Sylvain crushed beneath a fleeing horse's hooves, or Dimitri, covered in bloodied spears, Felix watching him helplessly as rotted hands dragged him into the earth.  
  
“You okay back there Felix? You've got that weird look going on.” Sylvain looked back, considering. “Is it a Highness thing?”  
  
“What are you on about now?” Goddess, why did Sylvain _chatter_ all the time?  
  
“You've been watching him again. A lot. But you're not angrier than usual, so I don't think you're _mad_ at him right now.” Sylvain hummed thoughtfully, “Maybe you two are actually getting along?”  
  
“You...” Felix wanted to push him off the damn horse. He really did. “I can't stand you.”  
  
“I know. That's why you're here and not with Ashe. Although if you want to ride with his Highness...”  
  
“_Sylvain_,”  
  
“Listen... all I'm saying is that we already almost lost him twice. And he's _trying_, I think...” Sylvain's hand went to his sword, almost reflexively. “Just don't let yourself get bogged down, okay? You kind of scared me last battle. I thought...”  
  
Despite himself, Felix flinched. “Thought what?”  
  
“You two are a lot alike, sometimes. That's all.”  
  
Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. “I'm nothing like that _beast_.” Sylvain didn't care anyway. How many times had Felix had to save him from some fool archer's arrow? Or tear through a mage's spell because Sylvain wouldn't look out for his own skin?  
  
How many lives had he had to cut down, just to make sure that everyone else could _live_?  
  
Did Dimitri keep count like this?  
  
“You...” Forget it. Forget everything. “Just... stay alive. And less annoying.”  
  
Sylvain winked.


	2. walk on, walk on

Faerghus's north side was unlike anywhere else in Fodlan. Black cliffs decorated the landscape, and blackened firs with blue-green leaves hung heavy with snow and ice. Rivers and streams ran in their own zig-zagging path, leading to larger rapids and even larger waterfalls that descended into glassy lakes.

Glenn guided Felix with the quiet confidence of an experienced hunter. He pointed out footprints, of an unseen deer or a pack of Greywolves, the kind that were vicious during the spring but clever in the dead of winter. Felix absorbed it all, clutching at his hunting knife with an uneasy twisting in his gut.  
  
Knights knew how to hunt. Had to, because there were things at the border far worse than a rabid wolf.  
  
“There it is,” Glenn whispered, kneeling down closer to the ground. “Do you hear it?”  
  
He heard it well enough. A low sound, as though something big was disrupting the snow. Beyond that, a soft, steady hiss of water. They approached, Felix watching Glenn more than the forest ahead. His brother was unflappable as always, somehow far away and Felix wasn't sure he could ever reach.  
  
A boar, black-skinned and blooded, was dragging itself weakly through the snow towards the edge of a deep, placid lake. Felix could see a long white spear sticking from its spine, and a nasty, broken arrow still digging in its right eye.  
  
“Kill it,” Glenn whispered, and his voice was _wrong_. Harsh and metallic, “Better to put it out of its misery than let it live like that. Let it _die, _little brother.”  
  
Felix reached for his arrow, hands shaking. The boar lumbered forward, tracking blood.  
  
He couldn't.  
  
He _couldn't_.  
  
Glenn reached for his own sword, to do what his crybaby brother could not. And Felix reacted, rushed forward to stop him. If he could just stop Glenn, if he could _save it_...  
  
The boar's skin was rough and calloused as Felix grabbed on, bodily protecting it from the shambling corpse that came towards them both. The boar howled, a shuddering sound as it burst forward towards the huge lake.  
  
They broke through the ice into the freezing water beneath, and Felix clung as they both sank deeper and deeper, disappearing into the blackness together.

* * *

  
  


The march was exhausting, and they hadn't even made it to the capital yet. There were too many familiar landscapes that were now warped by war – once-pristine forests shredded and burned, and wild, hungry wolves that watched them, waiting for any sign of weakness.

The few villages that remained in one piece at the outskirts were worse. Felix _hated_ their roaming eyes, the hushed whispers that spoke of hope and doom and blood.

The boar was curling in on himself. Felix could tell, just by the way he had gone silent and seemed to only respond when Dedue touched him or the professor directed his attention. Felix's hands twitched, because of course he'd known. He'd _known_ the stupid brute would do it.

They finally holed up in Galatea, just for a few days before they would strike in earnest.

“I'm sorry. We don't have much to offer, but it will be secure.” Ingrid looked at the stone walls, rising high against a grey sky. “Most of our issues have been about resources – not even the Empire really wants this territory.”

“It's fine. Thank you.” Dimitri glanced at everyone and gave a faint nod. “Everyone, please rest as you can.” His voice was dulled. Felix felt his lip curl.

“Well,” Sylvain dismounted and stretched. “Haven't been here in a while.”

Over a decade, perhaps. Felix glanced at the army around them, noting which ones were already shivering from the cold and how many, like him, shrugged it off. A truly motley group, and the battle hadn't even started yet.

“Felix?” Sylvain cocked his eyebrow.

“I'm fine.” Felix slid down, and the solid ground was a welcome change. “Thanks. For... the ride.”

“Wonder if Ingrid still has that wooden horse. Or that blanket. We used to love that thing. Ingrid, do you still have that blanket?” Sylvain tugged his horse towards the stableyard.

It had to be old and threadbare by now. When they were young, the thing had seemed _huge; _enough for all of them to curl up beneath and sleep comfortably in a worn-out huddle.

That was before.

“I don't think so.” Ingrid gripped the reins of her pegasus in one hand and began cleaning its feathers with her other. “But... if memory serves, my grandmother cut it up and sewed it into another quilt she was making. There's no point in throwing something away, after all.”

* * *

“I was right. It took you a _month_.” Felix crossed his arms and glared at the pathetic creature sitting quietly outside, his good eye fixed on the empty space in front of them. They were supposed to be safe within the stone walls of the fortress, but all it would take was a clever sniper or a mage and they'd again lose their trump card. Their rallying point. Just when he... they... needed him. Even with Dedue hiding in the shadows like a stone guardian, it was hardly safe. “Are you indulging in the dead again?”

“No.” Dimitri responded flatly. “Should you not be resting?”

Tch. “I can rest when you're inside.” _Safe_. “Whatever is in that mind of yours doesn't require you to stay outside like a guard hound.”

“I...” Dimitri fumbled. “I cannot. Not tonight. I cannot settle.”

“Pathetic. How am I supposed to trust you to lead us into battle, when you can't even feel concern for your own self?” Felix couldn't help it. Or maybe he could, but what was the point? He walked forward, standing right in front of the miserable display. “You're our _prince_, Dimitri. You can damn well act like one.”

The boar bowed his head, and that only served to make Felix's irritation rise. This was different from the madness of _then_, the dark, twisting black thing that he'd always loathed. This was familiar- _wrong_. Dimitri would let Felix bite, and pierce, and rage, and he'd take it with an empty smile.

Dimitri wasn't smiling though, and Felix wasn't sure if it made it better or worse.

“Fight me.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Fight me. If you're going to be outside, at least make yourself useful.” It would settle the itch beneath his skin, at least. And perhaps tire the pathetic _prince_ out enough to hear reason.

“We have no weapons.” Dimitri rose anyway, good eye fixed on Felix. “Felix...”

Felix raised his fists. He wasn't used to brawling, not like Dedue or Ashe, but he wasn't helpless.

For the next several minutes, there was nothing but the solid sound of punches and grunts. Felix was smaller, but bolder, and Dimitri was... it was hard to say. He wasn't _fighting_.

“Felix...” Dimitri warned, lifting his forearm again to block Felix's blows. He was almost playing with Felix, and it was irritating. Dealing with Dimitri in _general_ was irritating. “Enough.”

“Make me.” Felix countered, because he was _not_ backing down. Especially not when Dimitri didn't have the decency to spar with him in earnest. He'd seen the beast, knew what he could do, so why... “Make me _stop_, beast.”

He caught the flash a second too late. Dimitri just _shifted_, pulling his left arm back just as Felix went in to strike at his chest. His other hand went out, taking the blow just to swing his hand around and knock into Felix's shoulder.

Felix went skidding back _hard_ – just in time for Dimitri to launch himself forward. The blue eye was sharp, too sharp, as they both went to the ground. Dimitri landed on Felix's hips, his fingers immediately going to his opponent's wrists to hold them above Felix's head.

“Yield.” the prince said, his voice firm and sharp and _commanding_.

Felix felt his body obey, even when his mind howled in protest.

They were both very still, the only sound the harsh pant of wild breaths.

And then, just like that, Dimitri let go. His eye was clear, and sharp, but not the dangerous beast of before.

A lion sheathing its claws.

Felix breathed deep, looking anywhere but at the stupid prince above him. He felt the pressure of the other man disappear as Dimitri flopped onto his back to his right, probably an embarrassing heap all over again.

Goddess, he was going to beat that out of the damned boar.

If the cold ground didn't end them both first.

“I'm sorry.” Dimitri started, “I... want to recapture our capital. Save our people. But I...” he hesitated, hand drifting to the unruly blonde strands of hair that fell on his forehead. “I am no savior.”

“You're our _prince_, Dimitri.” Felix reminded sourly. His wrists were still hot, and he didn't like it. “Do you expect the Kingdom to bar you from going into your own capital?”

“The last time I was within Fhirdiad's walls, I was waiting to be beheaded by my own sentries.” Dimitri's voice went flat, distant. “I even knew his name.”

The cold earth was nothing compared to the icy, dull ache in his chest. “That _snake_ found a body. Made my... my father look at it. Gave it a _funeral_ and everything.” Felix clenched his fists hard enough to feel pain. “As if I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.” He swore he could hear a low growl, but it could have just have easily been from his own throat. “I looked for you. _Five years, _I searched. It was _miserable_.”

“Felix...”

“Don't.” Felix grumbled, trying to push away the thoughts of dead corpses and blood trails and all sorts of things that he couldn't change or fix. “I'm not here to indulge in your pity.”

“Then will you at least offer me your honesty?”

Felix snorted. “You truly are dense, if you think your people do not wait for your return.”

“And you?” Dimitri turned his head, waiting. Felix was right. He looked absurd.

“If you think I will accept a king that lies on the ground,” Felix sat up, “then be prepared for me to drag you by your own neck until you stand. I'm not wasting my life on a king that acts like he's already given up.”

Dimitri smiled. He rose to his feet and reached down, offering his hand to the swordsman. “Will you accept a king that needs others though?”

“It depends.” After a second of hesitation, Felix curled their hands together. Dimitri's hand was _too_ hot. The rest of his body already felt warmer. “Come inside, Dimitri.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix: I'll punch you.  
Dimitri: That means you care.  
Felix: I'll punch you harder.  
Dedue: Please do not encourage him.


End file.
